Sum of All Fears
by Kaleyanne
Summary: Memory is faulty enough as it is, but in deepest sleep, Takeru's own fears just make it worse.


_AN: Just for kicks, I counted, and you can interpret various parts of this fic as Takeru/Taichi, Sora/Jou, Koushirou/Sora, Koushirou/Hikari, Takeru/Koushirou, and Takeru/Patamon, but mostly Takeru/Sora and Takeru/Hikari. Possibly even Tailmon/Hikari. Any one of these alone is valid, as are one or two, or perhaps none at all. Remember, this is Digimon fandom. Gender, age, species and even universe are no longer an issue. XD _

_I will say, however, that I believe the entirely platonic or the Sokeru interpretations enhance the story best. Please enjoy; it's been years since I lurked Digimon fandom, and I never really ficced for it. _

Sum of All Fears 

Shutting the front door behind him, Takeru paused to take in his surroundings. It terrified Takeru, the mere thought of venturing outside the strange mansion, but here he was. It was unnerving, even with Patamon hovering protectively over his head, with the constant sound of flapping wings in his ears…

It just really didn't change the fact that a Roman coliseum—perhaps _the_ Roman coliseum—sat on the horizon, flanked by the Empire State Building and the Great Pyramids at Giza and a million other generic and fantastic and tiny and giant structures from every corner of Earth and her history. Koushirou, in an effort to distract everyone from Hikari's critical condition, pointed some of them out, until Tailmon told him to shut up and drive—only in a lot more words, some of which Takeru was sure his mother would have fainted upon hearing.

Patamon, still flap-flapping away, was in awe. "All of these are in your world, Takeru?"

"Every last one, I guess. Somewhere," he answered. "D'you see anything, Patamon? Mugendramon or something?"

"Not a thing," the little Digimon replied.

They ran the full circle around the house, Patamon gradually climbing higher and higher and Takeru keeping low to the ground and close to the walls. Every half hour (as best as Takeru could approximate), they did this. Taichi trusted the girls' safety to him and Patamon; they couldn't let him down. Hikari was deathly ill and Sora, Piyomon and Tailmon were stretched thin, using the house's limited resources to comfort her. That left the smallest and youngest (Hikari was nearly four months older and at least two inches taller, much to Takeru's initial annoyance) as the last line of defense.

He fingered the pendant around his neck, the Tag holding the Crest of Hope. It was a sunshiny yellow; fitting, as the glyph was a tiny sun beaming a giant ray of light earthwards. But it only glowed once and very briefly, at that. Not enough to do any good. Granted, the full power the Crest could supposedly provide, the powers the other seven Crests had provided his friends with were not really needed to defeat PicoDevimon, but they would sure come in handy if they happened to run into Mugendramon.

Even Hikari's Crest of Light (bizarrely represented by a flower, of all things…) glowed pink and evolved Tailmon into Angewomon. It was disconcerting to Takeru; his joy at having the Eighth Child be just his age was matched only by Taichi's chagrin that it had been his baby sister all along. But sweet Hikari had done the thing he alone hadn't, and in mere seconds of receiving her Crest, at that!

It just wasn't fair.

And as soon the thought crossed his mind, a block of ice fell hard on top of his stomach, sinking it clear to his shoes. Hikari was burning with a fever that very moment, her life hung in the balance… And the only reason it was that bad was because she had been so unselfish, so unwilling to slow them down that she ignored it. For their sake, for the worlds' sakes…

Where were Taichi and the others?

Circuit completed, Takeru and Patamon quietly opened the door and sneaked back inside. Tailmon, in a fit of paranoia, had drawn all of the curtains shut, so they were free to move as quickly and ostentatiously as they liked, as long as they weren't too loud. Hikari had finally collapsed into a fitful, delirious slumber right before they went outside, and Sora wanted her to stay that way, if possible.

Takeru and Patamon slowed down as they approached the Hospital Room, as they had taken to calling it. Patamon gripped the doorknob in both tiny hands and cranked it open as gently as possible. The scene was unchanged from when they left; Sora, Piyomon and Tailmon still kept their vigil. Sora had removed her hat and gloves and they sat on an empty vanity near the far wall, along with Hikari's clothes and shoes.

A cough tore through Hikari's body, making her shake and convulse violently. Sora immediately grabbed a glass of water Piyomon periodically freshened and trickled some down Hikari's throat. She spoke soothingly to the little girl, rubbing the shaking shoulder with her free hand and generally being the motherly Sora Takeru knew and loved.

Sora sighed once Hikari had calmed down enough to sink back into a feverish sleep, and laid the back of her hand against Hikari's forehead tiredly. Once satisfied, she tucked a thin sheet around the child's torso. Takeru could tell by the way her shoulders slumped, once the brief prick of excitement and adrenaline faded, that the prognosis was unchanged. Hikari was still burning up and things were still grim.

Somehow feeling it was wrong not to, Takeru removed his own hat and laid it next to Sora's. Patamon landed silently on his bare head. He tiptoed to the bedside, and Sora turned a weary, forced smile on him.

"How was the patrol?" she whispered.

Takeru answered her likewise. "We're safe. Patamon flew real high and saw nothing."

"I'm relieved to hear it. I don't know what we'd do if we were attacked." Sora massaged her forehead. "We're only at one-fourth strength, with Hikari sick and everyone else gone…"

The painful part, to Takeru and Patamon, which Sora was much too nice to point out, was that their prospects weren't even that good. Not only were there only two Digimon strong enough to fight, with Tailmon sapped of her strength, but also one of them was stuck at the Adult level. Angemon, though immensely powerful for an Adult, was still only that. Not to mention that, even if the Crest of Hope happened to glow just then, Mugendramon was a fully evolved Digimon. With minions, and lots of them. Even Piyomon and Tailmon couldn't match him. Takeru wasn't even sure the mighty WarGreymon could prevail.

Tailmon's desolate gaze towards Hikari's now-evened breathing and flushed cheeks and Piyomon's heavy steps towards the sink to refresh Hikari's water indicated that similar thoughts were passing through their own minds. Sora's, too. She removed the cold compress on Hikari's forehead and dabbed at the younger girl's cheeks and neck, before dunking it again into the cold water Piyomon brought.

"I wish Jou were here," she said quietly, and to no one in particular. "He might have some idea on how to at least make her comfortable. Or what could really be wrong with her and I'm not just screwing her up worse and she's not going to catch fire and die while we're powerless…!"

Sora clapped a hand over her mouth; shock and horror that her private, desperate thoughts escaped etched clearly on her face. Piyomon was frozen. Patamon gripped Takeru's hair tightly. Almost enough to hurt.

Meanwhile, Tailmon leveled another despondent gaze towards her partner. Her ears bent back and she whimpered, curling up like any common housecat near Hikari's pillow. Neither Piyomon nor Sora had the heart to shoo her away. Besides, why bother? Sora had clearly given up hope.

Which meant Takeru had to do something. Hope was his responsibility, wasn't it? Just like Jou always played the pillar in the background and Taichi hyped up his own bravado, just so that the others knew that they there were there, doing fine, aren't we all, Takeru felt that he had to be extra hopeful, even if he didn't mean it. Just for the sake of morale, just so that no one sank too far into themselves. Takeru had fallen into PicoDevimon's trap that way, and he didn't want his friends to go, too.

He patted Sora on the back, a bit awkwardly. He wasn't really used to comforting her, of all people. He always thought of Sora as unshakeable. She lost herself that one time, but that was PicoDevimon and Vamdemon again. Surely no one could be held responsible for everything they instigated.

"It's gonna be okay, Sora…"

"Yeah, it is," sighed Sora. She looked different without her hat. Her reddish hair was soft and shiny and actually, cut kind of girlishly, the way it curled up at the ends. The stray lock on her forehead made her look smaller, closer to eight than eleven. Bare hands and head made her look more exposed, less guarded. Sora, for all of her caring and motherliness, was never very vocal and open about herself, beyond two cents on what they should do.

"I'm just… so scared right now, Takeru. I've never had a fever this high, I don't know anyone who has. And really, we don't even know how high it is without a thermometer!" Sora's voice was becoming more hysterical with every word. Takeru gripped her shoulder.

"What if she does die? Taichi will kill me. And we'll be short a fighter, since Tailmon is practically useless without her. We won't be able to save the Digital World. All of our friends who died, our families back home will all be lost, gone, dead for-for… ever!"

She choked on the final word, and the dam broke. Sora buried her face in her hands and began to cry hysterically. Loud, screaming sobs and tears leaked through her fingers.

Piyomon mirrored her exactly, at the very moment Hikari was struck by another coughing spell. Her throat sounded like it was being ripped apart, her eyes would briefly open as she gasped for breath. The flush of fever was giving way to lack of oxygen; her face was turning blue…

And so was Sora's. She was sobbing and gasping alternately and Takeru was scared. He remembered seeing Sora cry, when they were looking for her to get the group back together, and this was completely different. Sora almost sounded like she was choking, struggling to breathe but unable to! Like her tears blocked her oxygen supply or something!

And Hikari was sitting straight up now, clutching at her throat, silently screaming in pain. Sora was blinded by her tears, and either couldn't see Hikari or was entirely powerless. Tailmon was moaning in Hikari's pain, Sora was crying violently, Piyomon was mirroring her in fear and empathy, Hikari's tiny little body was wracked with coughs, Patamon had left his perch and was flapping above his head in circles, repeatedly begging Takeru for instructions….

"Takeru, what do we do? What do we do, oh, Piyomon, Tailmon… what do we do?"

"Taichi, I'm sorry!" Sora wailed. "Jou, where the heck are you when I need you most?"

"Oh, Sora, I wish I could help you…" cried Piyomon.

Tailmon whimpered. Hikari gagged and gasped.

Patamon's flap-flapping, once cheerful and comforting, was beginning to drive Takeru mad. His hands crept up to his mouth and his eyes burned with his own tears… What could he do? What could he do? The girls were falling apart, losing hope, sinking deeper and deeper into despair, away from him…

And the ground began to shake. Takeru jumped a foot in the air and landed just as another tremor struck. Patamon in the air and the girls in their own worlds were oblivious; only Takeru felt the shock waves. Ice shot through his veins as if from a bullet; this was no earthquake. The shock waves were too rhythmic. One creature was making the ground move, merely by walking… Mugendramon alone could do this. He had to be coming!

As fast as he could and sparing no glance for his friends, Takeru ran from the Hospital Room and down the hall. The grand window in the hall, he passed just in time to see a set of Hagurumon shatter the glass and shred the curtains. He heard someone yell—probably him—but didn't stop. He merely veered closer to the wall and kept running.

With the front door in sight, Takeru's speed increased. His goal! He didn't even stop, just twisted the doorknob and used his momentum to open it.

Out on the lawn again, he looked both ways. And not even bothering to use the roads and open areas, but just knocking over all of the buildings and monuments, plowing straight through a ziggurat, was Mugendramon!

Impossibly, he thought he saw the machine Digimon's mouth curve into a malicious, deadly smile.

And then it felt as if cotton was stuffed into his ears; all sound vanished. Takeru felt as though he had stopped breathing. Everything was blurry; he could see nothing, save for Mugendramon. He could feel nothing, save for a whistling streak of heat whizzing past his head and into…

Without Takeru realizing it, Mugendramon had attacked! In horror, he spun around; just as the attack hit the base of the mansion. His mouth was drier than the desert they'd passed through to come here as he watched the building collapse. As he watched debris crush Hikari, Sora, Piyomon, Tailmon and Patamon… A cry of anguish became a cry of pain; he could swear that was Sora's voice! Hikari's convulsing was slowing… Her coughs silencing…

"HIKARI!"

Taichi's voice pierced Takeru like a dagger. He tore his eyes away from the destruction to look at his friend, his idol, on his knees in the dirt. Agumon was patting him on the back and Tentomon rose into the air to assess the damage. Koushirou was staring at what was once the mansion, shock and terror contorting his face.

Wide-eyed, he whispered, "Sora…?" Koushirou broke into a run, racing towards the ruins. "Sora! Hikari! Hang on! I'm coming, hang on…"

He vanished; vaporized by Mugendramon. And Taichi was next. Tentomon had fallen from the sky in shock, landing next to Koushirou's laptop, miraculously spared. But what use was it without its owner?

Taichi was useless, overcome with helplessness, sorrow, fear… His sister, two of his best friends, gone… He was screaming from deep inside himself, pure animal terror ripping through his throat…

And Mugendramon was laughing… Closing in on him, Agumon, and Tentomon… There was nothing Takeru could do, Takeru was-

…

-in his own bed. Not in the Digital World. Far away from Mugendramon. Patamon was by his side, safe, sound and dead asleep. And he was definitely not eight years old anymore. Which meant Mugendramon was dead. Dead for many years.

Twelve-year-old Takeru massaged his forehead. It was soaked with sweat. Coupled with the images playing in his head, heavy breathing and shaking hands, the verdict was in: yet another of his many nightmares had resurfaced.

But they were getting less and less frequent, he reminded himself. Sora, Hikari, Koushirou, Taichi and their partners were safe. He hadn't let them down, hadn't left Sora to her despair or Hikari to her illness. Taichi and Koushirou didn't blame him; they loved him as if he was their own little brother, just as they always had. Patamon was snoring softly right behind him. Everything was fine.

All of Takeru's old fears, summed up and recycled, could no longer hurt him. He took a deep breath to steady himself, went to the bathroom to splash cold water over his face, and went back to bed.


End file.
